Stolen Moments
by ChristianGateFan
Summary: What if the Family of Blood incident instead happened after Journey's End, and a lonely Ten turned to Wilfred for help rather than Martha? What if the Doctor/John Smith and Donna Noble met despite efforts to keep them apart for her safety, and became close? Is this a chance they never had, or the threat of the end for Donna?


So yeah. I had to do a lot of driving by myself over the Thanksgiving break to get home and back from school, and when I spend that much time by myself with just music my brain does strange things. I was listening to some Doctor Who soundtracks and other assorted music...and this is what happened. I actually had two ideas related to NoMemory!Donna some or another version of Ten, but this is shorter one so I'm writing it first. Just a few chapters here, i think. Three or four, maybe. Buuuut, here's the first one. I love Ten and Donna; they're the greatest pair of goofy friends ever and I love watching them. I was sad over what happened to Donna, so...here.

IMPORTANT: As I said, the basic premise here is that Human Nature and The Family of Blood didn't happen in series 3 with Martha. The Family didn't wake up until sometime after Journey's End when the Doctor was alone, and so instead he turned to Wilfred for help to keep an eye on him while he was human.

* * *

Stolen Moments

John Smith was the most well-mannered tech in the office—and, in some ways, the most normal—but at the same time he was also the strangest. He didn't really look like he'd been the geek in high school. He looked rather good, actually, except for being ridiculously rail-thin, Donna Noble thought. He wasn't her type but she could appreciate a pretty face.

He followed every rule. He was never late, and he was kind, and every customer he helped and every patron who's computer or other device he fixed seemed to love him to bits. Yet even so, he didn't seem to belong. It was like he belonged too _well_ to belong, though Donna didn't have the slightest idea why that thought had even occurred to her.

Then, of course, there were the canvas trainers. He wore the tech shop's uniform like he was supposed to, but he refused to wear anything but trainers. It was the only argument it seemed he'd ever had with the manager, and he was so good at his job Ragusa had apparently given up trying to threaten Smith into wearing the black shoes he was supposed to wear with the rest of the outfit like everyone else.

Donna, for her part, sat at her desk in the back office and did her job. Data input. Secretarial work. It was another temp job that had gone a little long. At the moment it seemed it might become indefinite, and she didn't mind. She liked it here—or rather, she didn't hate it.

She'd been here two weeks now, and she didn't know how long Smith had been here. Even though he was just as integrated as if he'd _always_ been here there were other things—things said, here and there—that made her think he hadn't been here much longer than she had. Apparently he was just that good. And also, back to the belonging-too-well bit on that one. It made her wonder. She wondered why she cared enough to wonder.

Smith had a desk in the back, too; the one he used when he was fixing things rather than out on the floor. Sometimes Donna found herself staring across the office at him. If that wasn't strange enough, sometimes she caught him staring back when he thought she didn't notice.

She made a decision. Well…she acted on an insane idea as soon as she'd had it. Didn't matter. It was about the time for her lunch break, and she knew Smith had one too if he would take it. He didn't always. Today Donna's curiosity won, and she shouldered her purse and marched over to his desk instead of heading straight out to lunch. He was lost in the innards of an ancient desktop that the owner probably should have scrapped rather than tried to have fixed. Even so, Smith looked happy in his focus.

"Oi, you."

He didn't look up.

"Oi!" She smacked the desk with a hand and Smith started and looked at her.

"Hmm? What?"

"I'm goin' to lunch. Do you want to come or don't you?"

He pointed an index finger back at himself questioningly.

"Yes, _you_. There's no one else back here, is there?"

Smith grinned and shrugged. "Just checking." He looked at her as if appraising her, but he didn't take long. "Why not?" He gathered his jacket and wallet from the desk and made to follow her.

"God, but you're strange."

"Then why are you asking me to lunch?"

"I dunno. I was bored. Get a move-on then."

* * *

Smith didn't like to talk about himself. She asked him where he was from, and he rattled something off almost unintelligible and then went quiet like he'd gone blank. She tried to ask him something else, but he asked her about herself instead and she talked.

"Not much else to tell," she finished. "Still tempin', obviously."

Strange. She could remember a time not so long ago when she could have just talked forever.

"Oh, well that's better than doing nothing. And you do what you do better than anyone."

"How could you know that?" she laughed. "I've been at the shop two weeks."

"I just know about people sometimes," he smiled. "Still, you could do more though. Why haven't you?"

"Doin' more takes _money_, you know. Haven't got it. Not enough of it, anyway. Not yet. Went to Egypt once; that was about it."

"Ah, Egypt."

"You been?"

He opened his mouth, and then stopped and frowned. "Oh. Well, no. I guess not. I don't think so."

"You don't _think_ so? How could not know if you'd been to _Egypt_ or not?"

Smith shook his head and smiled again. Something about that smile was infectious. "Never mind. Doesn't matter. So where do you _want_ to go then?"

Donna shrugged. "Oh, I dunno. Everywhere, I suppose. Someday."

"Really? So do I."

Her eyebrows went up at the way he grinned at her—so full of childish joy, his trainers tapping against the bricks of the fountain they sat on the edge of while they ate lunch they'd gotten from a cart. This was the man she'd only seen hints of in the office, and it almost seemed as if even he didn't quite know what to do with himself or where it came from.

"Blimey, you really are weird."

"I try."

They ate lunch together every day after that, though Donna still didn't really know why.

* * *

"He's a strange one, that John Smith. And what kind of real name is that, anyway?"

"It's a common name," her grandfather said, never taking his gaze from the telescope lens.

"Oh come on, Gramps, who actually has that name?"

"He does, apparently. Other people, too. Lots of people."

"Well…anyway, it's nice to have a different sort of friend for a change, I suppose."

"Better than those squealing girlfriends of yours, that's for sure," Wilfred chuckled.

"Oh, be nice!" Donna said, with a teasing elbow to his side.

"I _am_ bein' nice! I could call 'em worse names."

"Oh…" she huffed.

"Anyway. You asked him for a coffee yet?"

"We've_ been_ eating lunch every day for a week and a half."

"That's lunch at work. Going for a coffee is different. I'm old, and even I know that. You should ask him."

"What if I don't want different?"

"You don't? You've been lookin' for a man for years, and now—"

"He's too skinny!"

Her grandfather wagged a finger at her. "He's nicer than any of the others you've tried."

"You say that like you know 'im."

Wilfred shrugged and looked back to his telescope. "You've told me enough, haven't you?"

"I suppose…" She trailed off. "He's just a friend."

"It's all right, sweetheart; I was just asking." Was he smiling, though? Donna shook her head because the idea was absurd.

Then she thought it about it. Tomorrow was Friday, after all. She could ask if Smith—well, John; it hadn't taken them long to get to a first-name basis—wanted to go for a coffee on Saturday. It didn't have to go anywhere. It might be worth a try.

No. That was ridiculous.

Then next day at lunch John asked _her_ to go for a coffee on Saturday.

She said she would without needing to think about it.

* * *

Donna didn't realize until she was sitting in the coffee shop several minutes too early that she'd spent far more time on her appearance this morning than she usually did for work. It made her squirm, and she compensated by questioning the early hour of their meeting the moment John showed himself.

"Bit early for a Saturday, isn't it?"

"I'm always up early. No point in wasting perfectly good time in a perfectly good day, I think. And you're the one who agreed."

"Well I wasn't in my right mind, then. It is _too_ bloomin' early to be up at this hour on a Saturday."

"It's only seven."

"On a Saturday!"

John shrugged and sat down, grinning. "Why are you here then?"

"You asked. I had nothing else to do today. Be glad I like you."

"Oh, you like me?"

"Stop it. I just mean I don't hate you."

"Close enough. What'll you have, then? I'm buying. I asked you."

She told him what she wanted, and Smith got up again—far too cheerfully for this hour—and went to the counter to make their order.

God, why _was_ she here? She still didn't understand it. Well…what else was she going to do?

She watched John coming back with their coffee. It was strange to see him in casual clothes, and of course those trainers were still there. Today they were bright red, rather than the somewhat quieter off-white or black ones he wore at the shop.

"Why_ do_ you always wear those shoes?" she asked, as he handed over her coffee.

"What?"

"Trainers. _Why_ on earth do you always have to be wearing trainers?"

He glanced down at his shoes, and then shrugged and sat. "What if I had to run somewhere?" He seemed absolutely serious about it.

"Really?"

"Yeah! Don't you ever think about those things?"

"Not really. Sane people usually don't."

Smith puffed out a gust of air. "Well I'm glad I'm not sane, then."

"You. Are. Bonkers."

"You keep saying that," he smiled. "But you're here."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Thanks for the coffee."

"Sure."

They sat in silence for a while, and strangely enough it was nice to do just that. It was really nice. The friends Donna usually had, there was never a silent moment. They talked here and there, but mostly it was just nice. As soon as their coffee was finished, though, it wasn't anything like quiet anymore. John jumped up, threw their cups away, and offered her a hand.

"Come on, then."

"Come on? Come where?"

He smiled and waggled his fingers as if beckoning. "You said you had nothing else to do today. Let's find something to do."

Donna's mouth hung open for a moment, but then she let out a breath. "All right. Might as well." She took his hand—the first time they'd touched, she realized—and something shivered up her arm and down her spine. It wasn't the usual shiver she'd get around a man she might be attracted to, and he was still too skinny. It wasn't that at all, but it was just as electric. Maybe more so. She thought maybe Smith felt it too, because he blinked as if he'd been startled.

Both of them shook it off, and John was smiling again. "And off we go."

* * *

They couldn't agree on anything else—they argued for nearly an hour, circling town in Smith's car—so they just drove. They drove, and drove, and drove, out into the country where it was quieter.

They talked, more than they could on a lunch break or in a coffee shop. Sometimes they stopped, and they walked. It wasn't usually the sort of thing Donna would care to do, but doing it with John she found she didn't mind. With him, the country and the outdoors was nice. Thank goodness she hadn't worn heels with her slacks and blouse, they walked enough. She thought maybe being out here reminded her of something, but that didn't make any sense. She'd never spent much time in the country anywhere.

It was long enough the conversation had time to grow more serious. They were sitting in the grass on a hillside, the car carefully maneuvered off the road, when it took another turn.

"All right, so I sort of lied about the trainers."

It was a sudden change of subject, and Donna blinked. "What?"

He nodded down toward his feet, his ankles crossed in the grass as he leaned back on his hands. "The trainers. I meant what I said—and that's strange enough—but that's not all of it."

"What do you mean?"

He made a face, like he was thinking. "I mean…I don't really know why I wear them. For some reason I just feel like I need to. Isn't that ridiculous?" Donna didn't know how to answer. John got a far-off look, and she saw something on his face that she sometimes saw in the mirror.

"What is it?"

John sighed, still looking off. "Do you ever…feel like you've forgotten something? Like you've lost something? Like you should remember something that's….so, _so_ important, but you don't know what it is."

Donna swallowed, and there was a strange feeling in her chest because she knew exactly what he meant. "Yeah. Yeah, sometimes I do."

"Really? Because I thought maybe I was just…crazy, or something."

"It feels like you've lost something, or you need something—like you'll _go_ crazy if you can't find it, but how can you if you don't know what you're looking for?" She didn't even know when it had started, but sometimes she could feel it there, sitting in her chest like a weight.

John looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Yeah…" He looked away again, and this time the face he made was painful to watch. He composed himself quickly, but Donna reached for his hand in the grass anyway. He laughed weakly in thanks when she took it, and squeezed back.

"Maybe that's why I asked you to lunch that day," Donna mused.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. "Hmm. Maybe. I don't know."

Donna, at least, knew that she couldn't remember the last time before now that she'd had a serious conversation with anyone other than her grandfather. She knew she liked it.

Soon enough they retreated to the car to go back before it got late, but it didn't take long to realize they were lost.

"We're _lost_? You got us lost!" Donna bellowed.

"Oi! Calm down! I'll get us back, all right!"

Another half hour of bickering ensued, until they were sure they were on the right track home. It was then that they laughed about it, and Donna wondered why, in this car in the middle of nowhere with this strange man she'd only really known a little more than a week or two…she felt more at home than she had in a long time.

* * *

It had started a month before. That familiar wheezing sound echoed up and down the street, and thank god it was the middle of the day and Wilfred was the only one in the house. He rushed outside to find the blue box he'd been expecting standing across the road where it had landed last time.

The door banged open, and wild eyes sought him out and beckoned him inside. Something told Wilfred there was trouble, and he didn't waste any time. He barely had time to take in the impossible space inside the police box that wasn't a police box before there were hands on his arms and the Doctor had started babbling.

"Wilfred, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry; I wouldn't have come here if I'd had another choice…" His usual brown pin-striped suit was a bit rumpled, and the poor man looked practically frazzled.

"What? What's wrong? What is it?"

"Aliens. These…aliens. It's hard to explain. They're called the Family of Blood. They're like…the mayflies of the universe, for lack of a better term. They don't live long, but they want to. All they want is chaos, and-and destruction, and if they absorb the energy of a Time Lord they can live as long as they like and wreak as much havoc as they want." The Doctor scrubbed a hand through his hair and down over his face. "I can't let that happen, but they've found me and I-I can't let them have me. I don't want to just…just kill them. It'd be wrong, but I can't let them have what they want. It'd be awful, for everyone—for Earth, for anywhere else they feel like they want to conquer. There aren't many of them, but if they got their hands on my life force like they want to, it—"

"It'd be war? It wouldn't be good, I take it." He was trying to understand. He didn't get all of it, but he understood enough. What he didn't understand was how _he_ could help. "Why are you here then? What can _I _do? I'm just an old man."

"I…" The Doctor sighed and shook his head. "I have to hide. There's no other way. But I'm the only Time Lord left; they could track me too easily, across time and space even. I have to…I have to stop being a Time Lord. Just long enough for them to live out their natural short lifespans and cease to be a threat."

"How long is that?"

"About three months, usually."

"Stop being a Time Lord? How on earth could you do that?"

The Doctor made a face. "Painfully."

"I still don't understand what you want me to do."

"You don't have to do anything. Not if you don't want to, or you can't, I just…I had to warn you. I have to become human for a while. I won't have my memory. I won't know who I am, or who Donna is…I'll try to make sure the Tardis sets me up far enough across the city I shouldn't run into her, but if nothing else you at least have to make sure I don't see her. I won't know anything, but she could still recognize me. It could still be…bad."

"For god's sake, what are you talking about! What are you going to do?"

He started over. He explained more carefully, and finally Wilfred understood.

"When I started the process and the Tardis began to look for a place for me, I didn't really have specific control over where she decided to put me. She headed for this time, this general area, and by then there was nothing I could do about it. If she'd gone for somewhere else, sometime else…I'd have just managed on my own. But I'm going to be _here_, and I had to make sure Donna would be safe. I managed to nudge the destination enough to set down here rather than across the city. I had to warn you, in the least. I'm so sorry—"

Wilfred shook his head. "Now you stop that. I'm glad you came here; couldn't bear to think of you alone with no memory some strange place or time, when I can perfectly well keep an eye on you here. Now do you think you can get this thing to move up the hill around the back? If you set her down by my shed I should have some canvas big enough to cover 'er, I think. Seeing she needs to hide away for a while."

The Doctor's eyebrows went up, and he smiled thankfully. It was tired, but it was a smile. "Oh, Wilfred—Wilfred, you are amazing. Thank you. I don't know how to thank you."

"No need. Get a move on, now."

He did it. He went to the mushroom-like console in the center of the room they were in, and worked a few of the controls. The wheezing, bellowing noise started again, and when it stopped the Doctor nodded to the door.

Wilfred opened it, and he stepped outside on his hill. They were right next to the shed, just as he'd suggested. "Oh my…this thing really works the way you say it does! We moved!"

"'Course we did." The Doctor followed him out, brow furrowed. "Well, I suppose we should get her covered up first, before I do this." His hand rested on the Tardis door fondly, worriedly.

They found two canvas tarps that together covered the police box completely. They laced them together with a rope, and banged in stakes in the ground so the covering wouldn't blow up in any heavy wind. The seam was left in the front so they could get back in through the door.

"Wilfred, really, I can't thank you enough…"

They were back inside. The Doctor was at the controls, and a metal helmet-like device was descending from the ceiling.

"I'll be unconscious for a while once it's done. What time of day is it?" the Doctor asked.

"There's hours before anyone comes home."

"Good…good." He'd pulled out a notepad and was scribbling something on it from the screen he was studying. "I've got to be gone before Donna gets back, of course." He tore off the top sheet and handed the paper to Wilfred. "This is where I'll be—name, address, where I'll be working as a human. Hmm, fixing computers and such, apparently. Should be simple enough. Anyway…"

"I've got to get you to this address before you wake up, and keep you away from Donna while you're here."

"That's about the size of it, yeah. Thank you…"

"And everything's set? No one will ask any questions?"

"Shouldn't. The Tardis is a time machine, Wilfred, and she can connect to any computer or database on the planet. She has her ways of doing things. Even I don't understand all of it. But yeah, everything will be fine. I'll be integrated from day one, wherever I'm supposed to be."

Wilfred studied the paper again. "John Smith? Not very creative."

The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "Well…it's an old stand-by. Why fix what isn't broken?" He turned around reluctantly, to look at the headpiece hanging from the ceiling behind him. "It's time then. I've got to get this done before they track me here."

"It'll be all right. I'll look after you. I'm a grandfather, after all. It's what we do." He did his best to smile reassuringly, and the tall thin man who at least _looked _so much younger than he was smiled back wistfully as if he completely understood.

"I know."

He explained the rest of it quickly—the fob watch and the device and what was about to happen—and gave Wilfred the sonic screwdriver and his psychic paper to look after before he pressed the watch into the helmet device and pulled it over his head.

"See you on the other side, Wilf." He pushed an apprehensive breath through his teeth. "God. Here goes. Sorry about this, by the way."

Wilfred didn't know what he was apologizing for until the device was activated, and the Doctor started to scream.

* * *

Only a few days after the start of Wilfred's vigil, Donna got a call from her temp agency about a new job. Wilfred thought he had to be hearing things when she told him where she was going to start work the next morning. It couldn't be.

It was. The Doctor was there. Well…John Smith was there. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't tell her just to not take the job. She needed the money, and how would he explain it anyhow?

Worried, he dropped in on the shop the first day. There he was, the human man the Doctor had become, oblivious to Wilfred's presence and oblivious to Donna at the back desk. Donna barely saw him. There was no reaction in either of them. Nothing terrible happened. Wilf went back each of the two or three days after that, but then he couldn't risk it any longer without Donna becoming suspicious. He no longer had the excuse of checking to see if she was settled in at the job. He watched in occasionally from the concourse outside when Donna was in the back and not looking, but all continued to be well.

He didn't know what else to do. Nothing seemed to be happening, so it was all right, wasn't it?

Then the evening came when Donna told him she'd gone to lunch with John Smith. Wilfred began to worry again, but once more nothing happened. The walls the Doctor had put up in Donna's mind seemed to be holding just fine. He was glad for it. The two of them became friends, and he didn't _want_ to put a stop to it.

If they could have this, now, who was he to take it away from them? Who was the Doctor himself to say it was against the rules? After everything those two had been through—whether they remembered it now or not—they both deserved some simple happiness for a while, didn't they?


End file.
